(storybrooke)log: dorian+maria WHO: Dorian Grey (Dorian Pavus) + Maria Grey (Lady Maria) WHEN: Backdated to the day of Ben and Dorian's breakup in Storybrooke WHERE: Dorian and Maria's Storybrooke home WHAT: Dorian confesses to Maria that he wants to recommit to their marriage, and this doesn't go over well at all. WARNINGS: N/A
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Dorian and Maria Grey had an arrangement.
These were the rules: on the surface, they were a respectable couple. They were wealthy, they were good-looking, they donated to charity and they kept up appearances. Dorian was from a powerful political family and taught chemistry at the local college, which was almost disappointing to his family in itself. However, it was a step up from where he'd been in his teenage years, rebellious and deviant and difficult. They'd done everything in their power to fix and improve him, including having him taken out of his home and sent to a camp in the Dominican Republic for a year and a half without his consent.
Nobody talked about that, not even Dorian.
He toed the line for some time, he devoted himself to God and to his family. He got married, as was expected of him. He then proceeded to realize that he was never truly going to be the good son that he was supposed to be, and he coped with it with alcohol and sex with other men. He'd been able to keep his affairs brief and purely sexual for years, like scratching an itch, but then there was Ben.
He never should have gotten involved with Ben in the first place. He was too close to Ben, he was too in love, and this had gone on for several months to the point where Ben was suggesting he leave Maria in order to live freely. It was reasonable, for most people, but it just couldn't happen.
Dorian couldn't just think about himself. He had to think about his family, he had to think about his father's position in an election year. It didn't matter that he loved Ben. It was wrong that he loved Ben. It was misguided and selfish.
He came home that day from lunch with his father, hanging up his coat and tucking his shoes in the closet before coming to find his wife.
"Have you got a moment?" he asked. He looked drained, exhausted, but he often did after speaking with his family.
The desk Maria was sitting at was a family heirloom willed to her years ago by a Great Aunt with a taste for clunky, opposing furniture. It dwarfed Maria, surrounding her with compartments and shelving and closed little drawers that required the use of a brass key, and looked nothing like the rest of her modernist furniture due to its cumbersome size and ornamentation. She liked it instinctively; there was something charmingly on target about its fierce devotion to being so out-of-place among their light, airy furniture in their home she had so nurtured and cultivated. She couldn’t claim to be unhappy, really, in this house. She liked her life of leisure, and she liked her husband, particularly when he paid for things and left.
Maria wasn’t unaware of the lunch meeting Dorian had had with his father. Even had he not told her of it - and he had, earlier this morning - she would have known his intention by the careful selection of his cuff links, by the way he had done his hair. Dorian tried very hard with his father, which irritated Maria for all that she tried very hard with her mother. Some mirrors were less-than-flattering.
“I’ve got a whole twenty minutes,” she answered, closing her laptop and turning her chair around to face her husband. Her hands were folded, her blonde waves were perfectly set, and her face held a bored expectation that she had perfected over the years, but there was concern to be found in that tiny line set between her eyes. “You look tired,” she added, and by her tone it was clear that although she might have been going for reproach, she was closer to worry. Dorian was too generous a person with his finances and his heart, she thought sometimes. To give so many people little pieces of himself - it was a way to be eaten up, bit by bit. Better to be cold and inscrutable, as much as can be managed.
Dorian also seemed nervous, which was unusual for him. He was, at least on the surface, overly confident, so that even if he was uncertain and anxious underneath he was never one to let it actually show.
He sat down in the nearest chair, taking a moment to fiddle with the cuff links that he'd picked out so very carefully that morning: gold, square, and plain, expensive and tasteful but ultimately not very interesting. His blazer and slacks were the same: gray, simple. His shirt was white and crisp, artfully opened at the collar to be casual but not flamboyant. He had a few choice pieces in his closet that suggested Dorian's personal tastes pushed more toward playful colors and textures, but those things rarely saw the light of day.
Maria's comment toward his appearance would have usually been met with some sort of jab in return, something quick and sort of mean, said with affection. Instead, he said:
"I've been selfish. And I want to apologize."
His subdued approach to his outfit hadn’t gone unnoticed. Maria was usually the one between them who favored plain, pattern-less clothing; and while God knew she preferred her husband in fashion on the conservative side the fact that he was wearing it now without her prompting him was enough for her to raise a silent eyebrow, a silent eyebrow that became two as his apology registered.
“Selfish?” She repeated, racking her brain for any idea where this could possibly be going. “What is this about?”
This was beginning to feel very much like one of those important life-changing talks their marriage counselor had kept encouraging years before in the years when Maria was still trying to squeeze her marriage into a particular shape. In the years since she had learned to appreciate it for what it gave her. Suddenly now Maria was smelling danger, and was none too thrilled with its presence. “What’s on your mind, dear?” She repeated, altering her tone from alarm to patience.
Dorian took a moment to steady himself with a centering breath. He crossed his legs, drumming his fingertips against his knee.
"I mean that I think that we need to reevaluate our relationship," he said.
There was a hollowness to the way he said it. He'd rehearsed this a hundred times already in the car, he'd considered his angles carefully. "I think that we've been … unhappy, in our marriage. I've been unfocused. I've been drinking. I'm sure that I've been making you feel unwanted."
It sounded like he was about to hand over divorce papers, really. They'd discussed divorce, now and then, but Dorian wasn't genuinely miserable. He liked Maria, provided they weren't overly intimate. He found her funny, and wildly entertaining at gatherings and parties. If he was to be married to a woman, he couldn't imagine a better one.
Reevaluate our relationship. Unhappy, unfocused, unwanted. All words that logically pointed to some sort of separation, a point of embarrassment that immediately had Maria sitting up straighter, bristling.
“Is this… about a divorce?” She asked flatly. Maria had never been the sort to play games (beyond the ones that were fun for her, at least), preferring to be blunt when the situation afforded her it, and now certainly seemed the time for it. What on earth? She’d thought that things were going quite well, or at least their version of well. Had she been mistaken? Had Dorian found out about-- no, Maria had been discreet (and who would suspect a priest, after all?). And so she sat in reticent silence, unwilling to speak more, waiting for an answer.
Dorian blinked, glancing up to fully meet her eyes. "A divorce? No. No, that's … no. Not at all." Another careful breath as he passed the point of no return. "I want to fix this. Us. — Me, really."
They were content to ignore one another except when they were being terrible to each other or to other people, or they were laughing about something wicked or sharing a good glass of wine. It seemed like it was beneficial to both of them, considering Dorian had never had much interest in being intimate and attentive.
"I …" He tapped his fingers against his knees again, glancing over at the clock at the wall. He watched five seconds tick by, then compared the time against his watch. One was either three minutes fast or three minutes slow, but he wasn't sure which. "I haven't been a good husband to you. And I need to change that."
If not a divorce, then… “Fix us?” Maria repeated, her brow furrowing into something resembling polite incredulity. This was sounding even more like Dorian was entertaining ambitions of turning their theater act to real life, and the thought was enough to where she stood, physically removing herself from his near-presence before he could do anything like gaze into her eyes or make a reach for her hand.
For all her dismissal of their marriage, Maria didn’t like the idea of it being altered without her permission. She’d never been one to cope well with surprises, and now she stood seething at whatever notions Dorian’s fool father had managed to dazzle his better sense with. “Define ‘change’,” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, nostrils flaring impatiently. “Stop dealing out Lifetime Channel platitudes and start explaining to me what you mean, specifically, so I can tell you how you’re wrong and we can go back to our mutual comfortable resentment.”
Dorian stayed where he was, but his gaze followed her. He was going to have to admit to everything if they were ever going to get past this.
"I've been … seeing someone," he said. "For several months." He didn't know how much she knew. They specifically didn't talk about things, though it was possible to read between the insults and the sarcastic jabs. They both strayed, but that was rather different from seeing someone.
He hesitated. "A man." He had to clarify, or at least confirm, what he was sure she was thinking. "And I'm going to end things, tonight."
“Did you honestly believe that I didn’t know?” Maria didn’t pry into her husband’s affairs - literal or otherwise - but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t picked up clues now and then. It was likewise beginning to occur to her that she was entirely too sober for this conversation. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let loose a sigh. “I did not interfere with your-- interests-- due to heartbreak, darling, but out of disinterest.” She decided it was too much like a low blow to comment that however philandering a husband, should said husband find Maria not visually attractive than obviously his tastes must align closer to men. “Why end things? Why try again?”
And then: “I trust you saw the prenup that my lawyer drew up? Darling, if I wanted to leave you for your trespasses, I would have, and more to the point, I’d be living in Anacapri by now. So no.” Her hand fell to her side, her gaze implacable. “The time for-- reconciliation? Is that the word we’re going with? - is well past. Why the need for self-discovery, self-loathing now?”
Of course Maria wouldn't be receptive to any of this. Maria had the freedom to do whatever she pleased, and Dorian didn't bother her about it. She could have her affairs, she had many evenings free. Surely she wouldn't want her free time infringed upon.
Dorian didn't answer immediately. The truth was far too difficult for him to discuss with her. He liked Maria, yes, but he always kept her at arm's length. Ben was the one who got to know his secrets, who got to know what he truly felt about things. Maria was sharper, harsher, and he didn't like the idea of showing her his most vulnerable places when the first thing she was likely to do was stick a knife in there.
"Some … rumors, I suppose, have gotten back to my father," he said.
Her eyes narrowed. So this wasn’t about reconnecting or being less selfish (whatever that meant). It was about appearances. Well. That was honestly a relief; Maria wouldn’t have known what to do with genuinely romantic affection coming from Dorian’s direction even if it had been offered at this point.
“I am… sorry to hear that,” she said carefully, because she was. If rumors had reached her father-in-law, she wondered at how lax Dorian and his lover had been in their caution. Everyone wanted something on anybody these days, she supposed. It was the currency of things. “I would not be opposed to doing…” A shrug of her right shoulder. “... damage control. It would only benefit the two of us, after all. We go out, we throw a dinner party, we are visible. Rumors only live as long as the next scandal.”
"There won't be another scandal," said Dorian. There weren't going to be more rumors, because he was going to end it, and he was going to stop. He'd been straying for too long, he'd been thinking himself able to do as he pleased -- why, because it was secret? Because as long as no one knew, it was all right? That had been one thing when he'd been having meaningless affairs, but Ben wanted him to leave his wife and stand up to his family. He was in too deep now, and had to get out.
He stood, moving to her without any kind of intimate gesture. Perhaps he should have taken her hand. "I promise you, Maria. I won't humiliate you, or your family, or my family. This won't come down on you."
His gaze drifted down to her hand -- and then he finally did take it, awkwardly, like an afterthought. "We took vows, and I've abused them."
Eighty percent of her wanted to cringe and duck out when he took her hand. Say something snappish, claim a sudden migraine, whatever. Maria hated failure, as a general rule, and her marriage? Well, she’d gotten used to thinking it as victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. Hadn’t she, at one time, been convinced that if she worked hard, looked good, and ran a smart household that they would make it work? It had only been in recent years that she’d found peace in keeping their appearance perfect and letting them have their own separate lives.
And for that half-second when he took her hand - when he hesitated, when it felt like a stage direction - she remembered how eager she’d once been. How hopeful, how deeply stupid. It made something inside of her feel sodden and limp, like cardboard left out in the rain. She hated it.
“Do what you will,” she said, her posture ramrod straight even as her eyes had narrowed in anger at him, and at herself and her own uncontrollable reactions. “I’ll not interfere, should you find it necessary.” She removed her hand, kept it at her waist. “But I think this is a mistake. A fool’s errand. Luckily,” she smiled, smoothed her hair, and took a step toward her desk, “we’ve made mistakes and sailed through them before.”
Why couldn't she just make this easy?
Dorian watched her leave, his brow furrowed. It wasn't as if he'd expected her to accept this, to jump into his arms and say she'd been waiting for him to return to her all along, but he'd at least thought she might appreciate the effort.
"I'm doing what's best for us," he insisted. There was an edge to his tone that verged on anger. He was going to see Ben tonight and break things off with him, destroy the one happy thing he had in his life, for the sake of family. For his father, yes, but for Maria, too, so she didn't end up humiliated.
Maria seated herself at her desk, making a show of going through the papers cluttering its top. In truth she was buying time as she sorted out the correct path to navigate. Showing hurt that he had made this decision to change things without her input was simply out of the question.
“You’re looking out for yourself,” she answered evenly. “I appreciate your promise of discretion - if there are rumors, than discretion is clearly something that needs work - and I also appreciate that you believe this is for us.” Even if it isn’t. “So go to it, then. Unless there’s something else you’d like to discuss?”
Dorian cleared his throat, taking a moment to adjust the cuffs of his shirt and fiddle with his cuff links again. "I'm not going to stand in your way when it comes to doing what you want," he said. "But I do hope that, eventually, you'll maybe drift back this way."
Keeping up appearances wasn't enough, even if Maria was being discreet about the company she kept. If he was going to devote himself to her again, to try his hardest to commit to his vows, then he hoped that Maria would make it bearable for him and do the same.
It was a lot to ask, especially out of the blue. He certainly wasn't about to start talking about plans for a family.
She smiled at his hope, as foolish as it was, because as far as Maria was concerned, this conversation was done. She’d given her piece, he’d decided to continue along his path, and that was that. Sure, she’d heard somewhere that a good husband and wife should probably talk about their problems and reach a compromise, but that sounded dull and drawn out.
“Salmon for dinner tonight,” she said by way of closing the subject finally. “With mango salsa.”